


Do You Remember Me?

by elvntari



Category: The Aeneid - Virgil
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Children, Gen, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, virgil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 18:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16561061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvntari/pseuds/elvntari
Summary: Dido recounts memories of her childhood with her brother and sister, thinking back to a time when things were good, and asking where it all went wrong.





	Do You Remember Me?

**Author's Note:**

> I put that I wrote this in my personal statement before I actually wrote it, but I wrote this before I actually sent off my personal statement, so was I _really_ lying about writing it? Also, apologies to all the people who followed me for Tolkien, I am going to be taking a class civ course, so you're gonna see quite a bit more of this kind of thing.

Sunlight.

We ran together--the three of us--in the warm light of the afternoon, sneaking away from our caretakers. You pulled us both by your hands, remember? You told us that you knew where to find the sweetest grove, the best place to lie and nap in the warmth. Those hazy days were bliss.

I’d pick the sweet fruit from the trees and we’d feast on out foragings. We’d sing, and sit in a circle, and talk about things we didn’t truly know the meaning of. You once told us about the palace that you would have. You said there would be walls made of gold, and doorposts made of silver--you said that you would build statues out of gemstones, reflecting rainbows across every room when they caught the light. You told us, brother, you told us that we would never have to worry--that we would be safe in your palace, and you would protect us forever. 

Pygmalion.

Do you remember?

Do you remember how we got older? You and I were too different, two different breeds of person; you stood tall and proud, with a flame burning bright in the depths of your eyes, watching and waiting for your turn. I stood where I was meant to, trying to meet your eyes, hoping that you would turn and make some excuse to take me and Anna back to that grove and to sleep again in the warm embrace of the sun. 

I learnt my crafts--weaving, naturally--but I learnt yours, too. Standing outside of the doors while you took your lessons, listening to every word, and committing those lectures to memory in the absence of writing utensils. You caught me a fair few times, but you said nothing. You asked your dear younger sister what she was doing, of course, and I told you:  _ I want to help you run your palace of gold.  _

You looked away and shook your head.

_ There will be no palace of gold for you, Dido,  _ you said,  _ you are meant for marriage and motherhood. _

I continued to stand outside the door for a while, and then less so, and less so even more. And then I forgot the route, or so I told myself. But I never forgot the lessons, no, nor did I forget what you told me.

_ You are meant for marriage and motherhood. _

But there was something in my mind--a nagging thought--that you were wrong. After all, since when were mere mortals privy to their own fates? Let alone those of their kin? Or, perhaps, it was just you, brother, who had no sight of the future. 

There was an evening--I remember--when I was dressed up in soft fabrics, and perfumed with honey. I wore the weight of heavy golden jewellery around my neck, shuddering at the feel of cold metal when it was laid against my skin, and I was presented to a room. Do you remember what I said to you when I had the chance? Do you remember how I told you about the man who stood at the centre, about how he seemed so much more beautiful and proud than anyone else there? Do you remember how I grinned, and how you gave me the slightest smile as if you were lost in thoughts of other things?

Do you remember, brother? 

Do you?

Do you remember the weight of the sword in your hands or the words on your lips? Do you remember the way it felt to see my tears--the one time I allowed myself the luxury of weeping? Do you remember the crunch of bone? The feel of blood, as it warmed your fingertips? 

You took me back to your palace of gold, and for a moment your promise was right, but the dead do not lie peacefully. Your palace of gold was iron pyrite this whole time. 

What do you remember of before?

Do you remember me?

Or do you remember nothing at all?

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
